What Goes Around
by Kathy Rose
Summary: Malcolm is having a hard time after returning from the Mirror Universe. Trip wants to help, but can't seem to get through to him.


Title: What Goes Around...

Author: Kathy Rose

Rating: T

Summary: Malcolm's just been rescued from the Mirror Universe and is having a hard time dealing with what happened to him there.

Author's Notes: This was written for the second Enterprise Ficathon for whtevrhpnd2mary. Additional notes: Trip wants to help, but Malcolm keeps pushing him away. It sort of a "shoe on the other foot" situation, taken in the context of Seasons 3 and 4, as Trip tries to figure out how to reach Malcolm.

---

Pain was the only thing that was real. Everything else was wrong, skewed so that outward appearances were cruel parodies of what he had believed was true. Malcolm clung to the pain the way a man in danger of drowning in the ocean would cling to a bit of flotsam to keep afloat. Not only was the pain real, it told him he was alive.

The restraints holding him upright were loosened. As he collapsed to the cold, unyielding deck, a new voice intruded upon his misery. It wasn't the mocking echo of his voice he'd come to associate with the infliction of pain, but nevertheless, the accent was as familiar as his own.

"Well, would ya look at that? He's still conscious!"

A booted foot connected with his ribs. His pain was so intense, however, that this newest indignity resulted in only a momentary throb among the countless other aches.

"I know you're awake," the voice said harshly. "Look at me!"

Malcolm knew from past experience that if he didn't obey, the pain would increase to the point of driving him into unconsciousness, and he'd only wake later to find this wasn't a terrible dream. He didn't know if he could remain sane if that happened again. With a supreme effort, he opened his eyes to squint at the person standing above him.

Gone was the taunting reflection that had smirked as he'd screamed at the agony inflicted on his body. Instead of being an exact duplicate of his own features, the face of the person staring down at him was a hideous caricature of Trip.

Malcolm couldn't remember much of the beating that followed except that, for once, the pain had been overridden by something else. Trip, one of the few people whom he had ever allowed himself to totally trust, had turned on him. The astonishment of that realization had momentarily distracted him from the pain.

Was it really Trip? The man's face was horribly disfigured, scar tissue running from mouth to temple, but the vocal inflections and the mannerisms were the same.

Malcolm had been afraid he was losing the ability to distinguish between reality and illusion, and he wondered whether he was hallucinating.

Or maybe this wasn't the Enterprise he knew. Maybe this place actually existed. He'd heard conjecture about other universes, although nothing had been proven.

He must have blacked out at some point during the beating. The next thing he knew, he was in sickbay. What little control he had left snapped when he saw Trip nearby. He screamed at Trip to stay away, but the man took a step toward him. Malcolm launched himself at Trip, lashing out, his betrayed trust crying out for him to make the other man feel what he was feeling.

Then he was struggling helplessly as several people grabbed him and forced him down on the biobed. A hypospray was put to his neck and he heard the hiss as its contents were injected.

It wasn't until he was beginning the slide into darkness that his chaotic thoughts calmed enough for him to register something incongruous. The scars he'd seen earlier on Trip's face were gone.

---

"What's wrong with him, Doc? How come he won't wake up?"

Phlox tried to find the right words to calm the distraught visitor to sickbay. Before he could say anything, however, Trip turned his gaze to the man on the biobed.

"You said he was gettin' better," Trip said. "It's been three days now since he tried to take a swing at me and you had to knock him out. Shouldn't he be awake?"

"As I've told you several times, Commander," Phlox said patiently, "physical injuries may heal relatively quickly, but whatever his mind must do to recover is another matter. Lieutenant Reed will wake when he is ready, and not before."

Phlox watched as Trip clenched his hands in frustration. The chief engineer and the tactical officer, so different in temperament, had formed a strong friendship during their four years of serving together. It was only natural one would be worried about the other. But Phlox knew it was more than that. There had been a disturbing interlude after they'd retrieved the comatose Lieutenant Reed, battered and bruised by unspeakable torture, from that other universe.

Phlox frowned as he recalled the incident. Lieutenant Reed had opened his eyes, looking around sickbay warily until he saw Commander Tucker hovering anxiously beside the biobed. Reed had shot up in a panic totally uncharacteristic of the man, screaming at the commander to stay away from him.The commander had taken a step forward, perhaps to try to calm his friend, but had only succeeded in making Reed more frantic. Luckily, the captain had grabbed the tactical officer's wrist before his blow could connect with the engineer.

It had taken the combined strength of the captain and a medical technician to hold Reed down while Phlox administered a sedative.

---

Jon took one look at Trip's haggard expression and, without a word passing between them, got the bottle of Kentucky bourbon he kept in a drawer beside his bunk. He poured generous amounts into two glasses and sat back, waiting as the chief engineer paced. Trip would eventually get to the reason he'd shown up at his cabin, although Jon knew what was bothering him. He, too, was worried about Malcolm.

As he took a sip, Jon grimaced, not from the whiskey but from a twinge of regret. He'd watched over the years as Trip and Malcolm had developed a strong bond. He'd almost been jealous, knowing such a deep friendship was something he had to deny himself. He considered Trip his friend, but the demands of his position as captain often had to take precedence over friendship. Even as he'd distanced himself from Trip, he'd been aware of Trip and Malcolm becoming closer.

He'd thought for a while there might be more to their friendship than was obvious, despite Trip's tendency to get mixed up with females of various species they encountered. Then the whole Expanse business had come along and somehow Trip had wound up involved with T'Pol. Not the smartest thing he had ever done, Jon mused. They all knew how that had worked out. After the Xindi crisis was resolved and Earth was saved, Trip and Malcolm had managed to patch their friendship back together, but it wasn't the same.

Trip stopped his pacing to pick up his glass, draining it in three quick gulps before dropping into a chair. "I don't know how much more of this I can take," he muttered hoarsely.

"We're all worried about Malcolm," Jon said.

Trip went on as if he hadn't spoken. "If I hadn't insisted the transporter was the way to bring him back from the planet, Malcolm wouldn't have wound up in that other universe. You'd think we'd know better tryin' to use the transporter in a storm after Hoshi's experience with it." Trip paused to take a deep breath and hung his head. "And I keep thinkin' about the way I treated him...after..."

Jon remained silent, not wishing to re-open old wounds. Trip had come to grips with his sister's death, but it had been a long, slow process. The usually easy-going engineer had rebuffed every attempt to help him. Jon had been vaguely aware of what was going on, but hadn't done anything. He'd been too preoccupied with his own concerns. At least Malcolm had tried to help, but Trip had cut him off the most harshly of all.

"What the hell happened to him over there?" Trip demanded, breaking into Jon's dour reverie.

As he leaned forward and refilled Trip's empty glass, Jon said, "I don't know. That he could survive the abuse he was subjected to is almost beyond comprehension. Phlox's examinations show something was done to him that abraded his nerve endings." At Trip's quizzical glance, he added, "According to Phlox, the pain must have been incredible, like having every single nerve in your body on fire at the same time."

Trip swore loud and long before asking, "Why would anyone do that to him?"

"I guess that depends on who 'they' are," Jon said as he settled back in his seat again. "From what little information we could gather when we yanked Malcolm back through the interdimensional rift, that universe is similar to ours. The few scans T'Pol could get indicated the same stars in the same locations as here. Makes you wonder -- are the same people there, too?"

"Ya mean, there are people who are 'us' over there?"

"Like I said, it makes you wonder," Jon said.

"But, if that's true, then there could be another me. Another you. Even a whole other Enterprise maybe," Trip said.

"We don't know that, Trip."

"I guess what really bothers me is...why did he try to punch my lights out when he saw me?"

Jon was spared making a reply by the beep of the intercom. Reaching over to the panel on his desk, he thumbed a button. "Go ahead."

"Phlox here, Captain. Lieutenant Reed has regained consciousness."

"How is he?" Jon asked.

"He appears to be lucid and much calmer," came the doctor's voice.

"I'll be right there."

Jon cut the connection and took one last swallow of bourbon before standing. He looked over at Trip who had gotten up and was waiting anxiously by the door.

As gently as he could, Jon said, "It might be better if you waited a while before seeing Malcolm."

"Aw, Cap'n!"

"Let me talk to him first," Jon said, raising a hand to forestall any argument as he went to the door. "Maybe I can find out why he tried to attack you when he first came around."

Trip stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "That's probably best," he said, adding morosely, "I don't wanna set him off again."

Jon put his hand on Trip's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I'll let you know what I find out."

---

He almost couldn't believe it. He was back where he belonged.

Malcolm closed his eyes and listened to the muted shufflings and chirpings of creatures settling down for sleep. They were the same noises that had greeted him whenever he'd had to visit sickbay during a night shift, and had become oddly comforting over the years.

With a start, he realized those sounds had been absent in that other sickbay. He'd deliberately blocked out everything extraneous in his struggle to remain alive, but bits and pieces were beginning to come back to him. Now he was remembering being taken to that other sickbay so that he could be patched up before being tortured again.

When he'd mentioned this, Phlox had told him that he'd be able to remember what had happened more objectively as he recovered, and then had puttered off elsewhere in sickbay after checking his vital signs.The captain also had been here, but had left a short time ago. For the moment, Malcolm was alone with his recollections. It was just as well. While the pain from his injuries was gone, he was enduring another type of torment. He was having a hard time coping with the resurfacing memories, especially one in particular.

His eyes snapped open and he stared at the ceiling, trying to banish the vision of that other Trip leaning over him. As if he didn't have enough problems, now he had to contend with the memory of a scarred, sadistic Trip who had tortured him.

Memory? Bloody hell, it was a reality! He'd been beaten to a pulp by someone who looked almost exactly like Trip. By the time that had happened, he'd endured so much that the line between reality and illusion had become blurred. Thinking his friend would deliberately and maliciously hurt him had been more painful than any of the physical punishment to which he been subjected.

He'd thought he and Trip were getting back to the way things used to be. Trip had at last accepted Lizzie's death and was letting other people back in his life. Malcolm had allowed very few people to get as close to him as Trip had and, although he would never admit it to anyone, he'd been both puzzled and hurt by Trip's rejection of his attempts to help him through his grief.

And now, just when things were starting to go well between them again, he didn't want to be anywhere near Trip. Just the sight of the man brought back memories he wanted desperately to forget, despite Phlox's advice that he needed to analyze and accept his feelings about what had happened before he could move on and totally recover.

What Phlox didn't know was that the memories weren't the worst of it. Malcolm knew it was irrational, but he didn't know if he would ever be able to bring himself to trust Trip again.

---

Trip hesitated outside the doors to sickbay. Through the frosted glass, he could see the lights were dimmed. Maybe Malcolm was sleeping and shouldn't be disturbed.

He caught himself as he started to turn away. Postponing talking to Malcolm wasn't going to help. Forcing himself to turn back, he pushed the button and the door swooshed open. He quickly walked inside before he could lose his nerve, but his determination faltered halfway across the room and he stopped.

Looking at the unmoving form on the biobed, he called out uncertainly, "Malcolm?"

He saw the hand on top of the sheet jerk at the sound of his voice, but Malcolm's face was in shadow, and Trip couldn't see if he was looking back at him. When there was no response, he let out a long breath and turned to go. He was almost to the door when Malcolm's voice came to him over the soft noises of Phlox's creatures.

"Commander?"

Trip spun around, a relieved smile lighting his face. "Hey, you're awake! I didn't want to disturb you if you weren't. And what's this 'Commander' stuff?"

He didn't get an answer and, as he approached the biobed, he was perplexed to see that Malcolm was looking away from him.

"You OK?" Trip asked in concern.

Malcolm made a noise that sounded like a small, hollow laugh. Or maybe it was a sob. Trip couldn't tell.He swallowed nervously, uncertain what to say or do. "Maybe I should go," he said.

"No. It's...OK."

Trip shifted his weight from foot to foot a few times in the silence that followed. Steeling himself not to run from the awkward situation, he grabbed a chair and pulled it over next to the biobed. He sat down, clasping his hands between his knees.

"I'm really sorry about what happened to ya, Malcolm," Trip said softly. "But you're gonna be all better soon. Phlox will take care of ya."

The only reply was a noncommittal grunt. Trip took a moment to gaze at what he could see of Malcolm's averted face. The cuts were healing and the bruises were fading. Both sympathy and guilt tugged at the engineer.

"Look, I need to tell ya I'm really, really sorry about what happened," Trip said. "If it weren't for me, none of this woulda happened to ya."

Turning his head toward Trip, Malcolm said in a monotone, "You didn't do this to me. What are you talking about?"

Trip hesitated, taken aback by the dullness in Malcolm's eyes. He'd seen his friend upset, even angry, when he'd been injured, but nothing like this. He'd never seen such defeat on Malcolm's face before.

"I feel like I'm responsible," Trip said after a few moments. "It was my idea to use the transporter to get you out of the way of that storm. I didn't know it was gonna send you off to wherever it was you went. If I hadn't convinced the captain it was safe--"

"I might be dead," Malcolm cut him off, his voice as emotionless as his eyes.

"Maybe. We don't know that. Ya might have been able to ride it out on the planet."

"Maybe," Malcolm said flatly.

Trip, hurt that Malcolm was being such an ass about accepting his apology, saw a flicker of distaste cross the other man's features before he turned his face away again.

Recognizing a dismissal when he saw one, Trip said, "Well, I guess I'll let you get your rest."

When silence greeted this remark, Trip left sickbay without another word, wondering what the hell was wrong with Malcolm.

---

Malcolm lay awake for a long time after Trip left. He'd been barely civil to the man. He should be feeling something like shame in the wake of his bad manners. But he wasn't. Truth was, he didn't feel much of anything except relief that Trip had left.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't felt much of anything since he'd recovered his wits. The pain from his injuries was gone, but there was nothing to replace it.

The pain had told him he was alive, and at the time, he'd been glad for it. It had helped him endure and survive. Then, when he'd thought it was the Trip he knew taking such pleasure in his pain, something inside him had died, taking his will to survive along with it. He had no longer cared if he lived or not.

Even this Trip's apology, albeit an unnecessary one since he wasn't truly responsible for what had happened, had provoked no corresponding response, good or bad, on Malcolm's part. Intellectually, Malcolm knew this Trip wasn't the one who had hurt him, but the damage had been done. He was too aware that this Trip had the potential to hurt him just as surely as the other had, if on a different level.

Malcolm had cared about this Trip. Now, he couldn't allow himself to care. If he did, he could be hurt again.

---

The next few weeks passed uneventfully. Enterprise for once seemed to be able to go about her mission of peaceful exploration and contact without any major problems.

For Trip, however, it was as if the universe had put everything it might throw at them on hold while he dealt with what was becoming an obsession. Malcolm was now more distant than ever, and it was driving Trip to distraction.

While Malcolm's physical injuries had healed, his mental health was another matter. Even so, Phlox had released him from sickbay on the understanding that he would be restricted to light duty. The already taciturn officer became unapproachable once he was out of sickbay. He focused on his work when out among the crew, speaking only when necessary. When he wasn't working, he was in his quarters.

Trip was beginning to wonder if Malcolm even ate at all any more. For three days in a row, Trip had hung around the mess hall late into the evening, waiting for Malcolm to show up for dinner, but he never did.

Trip's attempts to draw Malcolm out were quickly and efficiently squelched. Unless it was something to do with ship's business, Malcolm didn't want to have anything to do with him and came up with some excuse or another to leave. Trip got the impression that he made Malcolm uncomfortable.

Like now. By happenstance, he'd run into Malcolm on the way back to his cabin after his shift. He'd asked Malcolm if he wanted to do something together, maybe watch a movie. The result was he was left standing in the corridor with a growing sense of frustration and resentment as Malcolm walked away from him. With a pang of guilt, Trip wondered if this was the way Malcolm had felt when he'd tried to help him deal with Lizzie's death.

Shaking his head at this latest failure to connect with Malcolm, he watched as the other man entered his cabin without a backward glance.

---

The universe was still behaving itself a few days later, but Enterprise wasn't. Coolant in some of the plasma manifolds was running hot, and Trip's temper was rising to match it.

"It's got to be caused by something!" he said as yet another repair attempt failed. Seeing his frustration mirrored on the faces of his Engineering staff, he took a deep breath to calm himself. In a more reasonable tone, he said, "All right. Let's start all over. Hess, you run the diagnostic on the manifolds. Dillard, monitor the coolant temp. The rest of you, find something to do until we get the diagnostic results and decide what to do next."

The crew scattered to follow his orders. Trip started to check readouts on the main console but his concentration was shot. He glanced around the cavernous room until he spotted Hess on the upper level. "Hey!" he called out to her. "I'm takin' a break. You need me, I'll be in the mess hall."

Trip trudged out of Engineering, going over in his mind everything they'd already tried and would probably try again to fix the plasma manifold problem. For once he had something with which to occupy himself instead of worrying about Malcolm.

Was he ever going to be able to get through to that man? They used to be as close as, if not closer than, brothers. Now it was like talking to a stranger whenever he was with Malcolm.

He had just finished that thought when the cover on some relays blew out of the bulkhead next to him, knocking him down. Behind him down the corridor, the hatch to Engineering was thrown open and he heard the shouts of his frenzied staff over the blaring alarms. He was starting to get up from the deck, trying to clear his head, when a hand grasped his upper arm.

"Sir? Are you all right?" asked Dillard as he helped Trip to his feet.

"Yeah," Trip said, staring at the smoking mess where the cover used to be. "What the hell happened?"

"The temperature spiked," Dillard said. "We couldn't control it. It sent a surge through the whole system."

Trip hurried back into Engineering and rushed to a console. Calling up an overview of the system, he traced the source of the energy spike to a junction where wiring from various systems came together to share a common route through the ship. A hail from the bridge interrupted his perusal of the schematic.

"What's going on down there, Trip?" came the captain's voice over the comm.

"Think we finally tracked down the problem, Cap'n," Trip said. "Something's wrong in junction F14. I'm on my way to look at it."

Clicking off the comm, he called out new orders to his staff to start repairing the damage in Engineering. He'd take care of the source himself. With as much trouble as the faulty junction had caused during the last few hours, concluding with him getting knocked on his rear, he looked forward to personally fixing the problem once and for all. He grabbed his tool box and left Engineering at a fast pace. Even if the offending junction wasn't totally ruined, he was going to replace everything in it. No sense taking any chances.

Taking the turbolift to F deck, he stepped out and headed off at a trot around the curve in the corridor. He arrived at the crawlway to the junction to find the access panel already removed and a pair of booted feet disappearing into the opening.

"Hey!" he called out even as he wondered who had beat him there. "Be careful in there."

A dark-haired head poked out of the opening.

"Malcolm?" Trip asked curiously.

Malcolm grimaced. "Come in, Commander. I see you've figured out where the problem is."

"What are you doin' here?" Trip asked as he clambered in behind Malcolm's now retreating form. "How'd ya know the surge originated in this junction?"

The armory officer's voice was muffled as he moved quickly on hands and knees down the crawlway. "One of my staff was checking the phase cannon relays when the surge occurred. We traced it to this location."

Trip was aware of the smell of burned circuitry growing stronger as they approached the junction. Then he heard Malcolm's muttered curse.

"Pretty bad, huh?" Trip asked.

"Bad doesn't even begin to describe it," Malcolm retorted.

"Good thing I brought my tools," Trip said as he edged closer, working around Malcolm so that he drew even with the other man. The junction box was overhead between them and, glancing up at it, he frowned. "Damn. The whole outer casing is charred. That's gonna have to be replaced."

"The casing is the least of it," Malcolm said testily. "Until what's inside is fixed, the phase cannons are offline."

"Ya still got your torpedoes," Trip said, trying to dampen the agitation he felt emanating from Malcolm who was prying at the casing with his fingers. "It's not like we're totally defenseless."

"Until we get this fixed, there's no way to tell what would happen if we fire a torpedo. The whole bloody ship might explode!"

Startled by this outburst, Trip watched Malcolm, now positioned on his side for better leverage, wrestle with the casing for a few moments. Opening his tool box, he picked out a screwdriver and held it out to Malcolm. "Try this."

Malcolm took the screwdriver and, inserting the tip of it under the casing, began twisting it back and forth frantically. Trip knew Malcolm got in a snit when the weapons weren't in perfect working order, but this was extreme even for him.

Of course, Malcolm hadn't exactly been himself since he got back from that other universe. And since he couldn't run away right now, it was the perfect time to ask a few questions.

"So," Trip began, watching Malcolm's face carefully. "How come you been avoidin' me?"

Malcolm shot a quick glance at the engineer. "I haven't been avoiding you," he said, returning his full attention to the casing.

"Oh, come on, Malcolm! Every time you see me, you turn tail and run."

"I do not."

"Yes, you do! Like the other night, when I asked if ya wanted to do something like watch a movie, you practically took off runnin'."

"I was busy," Malcolm muttered.

"Busy avoidin' me, don't ya mean?"

Malcolm let out a deep breath in a noisy exhalation. "It may seem like that--"

"You're damn right that's what it seems like!" Trip cut in as his own anger began to ignite. "Ever since you got back, it's like you don't like me any more. Like you can't stand to be around me."

Malcolm mumbled something under his breath.

"What did ya say?" Trip asked belligerently.

Looking Trip straight in the eye, Malcolm replied evenly, "I said, 'Maybe I can't stand to be around you.'"

Trip's irritation gave way to astonishment. The normally loquacious engineer was rendered speechless. His mouth opened and shut several times before he managed to get out, "Why?"

Malcolm looked back at the casing. "It's not your fault," he said softly as he finally ripped off the casing, exposing a fused lump of wiring underneath. "Some things happened while I was...over there."

When Malcolm didn't elaborate, only continued to stare at the fried circuitry, Trip wondered if his nagging suspicion about the cause of Malcolm's behavior toward him was correct. Guessing out loud, he said, "Somebody who looked like me did all those bad things to ya, didn't they?"

Malcolm flinched. "Not all," he admitted. "But some. The worst."

Trip closed his eyes. Before he could think of anything to say, Malcolm started talking again. It was if a dam had burst and everything the armory officer had been keeping bottled up came rushing out.

"At first I thought I was still on our Enterprise," Malcolm said as he picked at the ruined circuitry. "I couldn't understand why everyone was wearing a different style of uniform. I thought it was some sort of elaborate joke. That impression lasted about two minutes, because then they started interrogating me. When I didn't give them the answers they wanted to hear, they moved on to torture."

Malcolm paused to wipe sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand. His voice was unsteady as he continued. "The person in charge of torturing me -- it was me. An exact duplicate of me."

"Oh my God," Trip murmured. He wanted to tell Malcolm that everything would be all right, no matter how lame that sounded, but he also knew it was good that the man was finally talking about what he had experienced. So he listened as Malcolm continued.

"Then, for some reason, my other self decided to let you...the other you...have a go at me. The other me was dispassionate when he tortured me, like it was just part of his job. But the other you enjoyed hurting me. I was so disoriented by then, not understanding what was going on, that I thought it really was you. And the fact that you could do those things to me..." Malcolm paused again and hung his head. When he continued, his voice was so low that Trip had to strain to hear him. "Thinking you'd deliberately hurt me was worse than any of the pain. That's when I decided I didn't care if I died."

Trip stared in shock at the bowed head of his friend. No wonder Malcolm had been avoiding him! Just the sight of him must bring back terrible memories. And that Malcolm would give up his will to live because he thought the person doing some of those things to him was--

A sharp sizzling sound came from farther down the shaft.

"Another surge!" Trip exclaimed. "We gotta get out of here!"

Abandoning his tool box, he began scooting backward toward the opening of the crawlway. He'd only gone a few meters when he realized Malcolm wasn't following him.

---

Malcolm recognized the sound. It was that awful crackling noise that signaled the torture device was being powered up. In a few moments, he'd feel the first of the jolts.

He froze, his muscles tensed in anticipation. Any movement would exacerbate the pain, and he'd learned he had to hold as still as possible. Otherwise, the pain would overwhelm him and he'd lose what little control he had been able to cling to.

A whimper escaped from between his tightly clamped lips. The only thing that could be worse would be if Trip was to hurt him again.

---

"Malcolm!" Trip called. "Come on!"

Malcolm didn't appear to hear him. He was staring toward the dancing arcs of energy advancing on them. Trip reversed course, crawling quickly back to Malcolm. "What's the matter with you, Malcolm?" he asked. "We gotta get out of here!"

Malcolm looked back at Trip, and the engineer could see the terror on his face. Malcolm's eyes were wide, the whites showing around the irises, and he was breathing in quick gasps.

"Not again," he heard Malcolm say.

"Again? What are you--"

Trip broke off as he suddenly remembered Jon telling him that part of Malcolm's torture involved his nerve endings being abraded. Some sort of electrical current could have been used to cause that. Now Malcolm was face-to-face with a brilliant energy display. No wonder he'd frozen up!

He had to get Malcolm out of here. Coming up behind Malcolm, he grasped the other man's ankle with a vague notion of pulling him out of the crawlway.

"No!" Malcolm yelled, grabbing a conduit tightly and kicking wildly at Trip.

Trip kept his grip on Malcolm's ankle. "Come on, Malcolm! You'll be killed if ya stay here!"

"Don't touch me! Get away from me!"

"Damn it!" Trip said, struggling against Malcolm's flailing legs. "I'm not that other Trip! I want to help you. Now get movin' or we're both gonna die!"

Trip saw Malcolm look away again in the direction of the approaching energy discharge and tense up. He couldn't leave Malcolm here. Jerking viciously on Malcolm's leg, he yelled, "You may want to die, but I don't want you to! Now move it, Lieutenant!"

Trip was counting on the the armory officer's training to respond to an order from a superior to break him out of his frightened paralysis, and he was relieved when Malcolm released his grip on the conduit. The smaller man went limp, allowing Trip to pull him back a meter or so before beginning to move on his own.

Scrambling backward on hands and knees, Trip all but fell into the corridor when he reached the opening. He'd just gotten his feet under him and had grabbed Malcolm by the ankles to pull him out of the crawlway when an explosion rocked the ship. Trip gave a tremendous heave, yanking Malcolm out of the opening and pulling him down and to the side just before a sheet of flame shot out into the corridor where they'd been a moment before.

New alarms sounded as they lay side by side on the deck, watching the blaze die away under the onslaught of the ship's fire-suppression system.

"You OK?" Trip rasped out.

He looked over to see Malcolm nodding dazedly, staring around without really seeing anything.

"Malcolm?" he prompted.

The other man lifted his head and looked at him in something akin to wonder. Then, to Trip's immense relief, the familiar twinkle in his friend's eyes, which had been absent all these weeks, was back. A sardonic smile transformed Malcolm's expression into one that Trip had missed very much.

"You still have a long way to go," Malcolm said.

Trip frowned. "What do ya mean?" he asked.

Malcolm got to his feet and held out his hand to help Trip up. "I've saved your life more times than I can count. This hardly puts a dent in evening up the score."

"Why you ungrateful son of a--" Trip started, then stopped as he saw the laughter in Malcolm's eyes.

Taking Malcolm's offered hand, he hauled himself up. "Welcome back," he said, still holding onto Malcolm's hand. "I've missed ya."

Malcolm held his gaze for a moment before ducking his head, a reddish stain creeping up his cheeks as he tried to pull his hand out of Trip's. "Thanks."

What the hell, Trip thought, tightening his grip on Malcolm's hand and pulling him into a bear hug even though he could hear the sound of running feet from down the corridor. He felt Malcolm stiffen for a moment in his arms, then relax ever so slightly into the contact.

As several crewmembers with firefighting equipment passed by to deal with what was left inside the crawlway, Trip let go and stepped back. Malcolm was shaking his head.

"What?" Trip asked.

"Really, Mr. Tucker," Malcolm said. "Such displays in public. What will the crew think?"

"I don't give a tinker's damn what the crew thinks," Trip said. "Thought I'd lost ya there for a while. I'm just glad to have you back."

He glanced at the crawlway, and therefore missed the thoughtful expression that crossed Malcolm's face. He gestured for Malcolm to walk with him down the corridor.

"I think I'll let the clean-up crew tackle that before I get started on it again," Trip said. With a sideways glance at Malcolm, he added, "You'll probably want to head back to the Armory, I expect."

Malcolm smiled as they reached the turbolift and stepped in. "And miss a chance to see some more pyrotechnics? You're not rid of me that easily."

Trip's delighted laughter was joined by Malcolm's as the 'lift door closed behind them.

---

Malcolm was content as he began to fall asleep that night. He wasn't sure he'd ever understand the sudden reversal of his attitude toward Trip, but he was certain Trip's dogged determination to save his life had had a lot to do with it.

Once the crawlway had been cleaned up by the maintenance staff, he and Trip had put in several hours fixing the junction. They'd had their usual disagreements about the best way to fix several of the components, but that was to be expected, given their natures. It felt comfortable -- and right -- to be back to the way they used to be.

All in all, he hadn't felt this good about their relationship in a long time. Their friendship had been renewed, although he wasn't quite sure what that hug in the corridor had been about. Bloody demonstrative Americans, he thought with a smile.

Turning on his side to a more comfortable position and pulling the blanket tighter around him, Malcolm's last thought as he drifted off to sleep was that the void left by the pain had been replaced with something infinitely better.

The End


End file.
